Visual delights to start the day

With no particular focus for today, l made my way through the Zion Gate this morning. It is so easy to pass by the importance of that statement. I made my way through the Zion Gate. The place where I am staying is on Mount Zion. We read of this place countless times in the Scriptures – both Hebrew and Christian. It is a place of great importance for it was here that David captured Jerusalem from the Jebusites and realised that God had given the land into the hands of the Israelites (2 Sam 5:7). In the grounds of the place where I am staying are the steps upon which Jesus is believed to have walked leading up the hill away from the Kidron Valley. On Mount Zion stands the Dormition Abbey where Mary is held to have ‘fallen asleep’ and ascended to heaven (although it is also possible to visit the Tomb of the Virgin Mary where she is buried, here in Jerusalem, in addition to seeing The House of Mary in Turkey, where she is believed to have lived out her days with St John! To cover all bases, I've been to all three...) For thousands of years this Mountain has been of importance to God’s people, and it remains so today.

With no particular focus for today, l made my way through the Zion Gate this morning.

The places explored across the five or so hours of walking took in all the four areas of the City: Armenian, Jewish, Christian and Muslim. I discovered myself in the Jewish area by accident and so, out of respect for the Sabbath, made my way away from it. It was my sense of circumspection rather than anything else... how weird am I?!

The walk through the Gate took me initially past the Cathedral of St James. I was actually looking for the Mardigian Museum which I was told by the entrance keeper to the church had been closed for three years (for those who like a smile, check this out!) My Library copy of Dorling Kindersley’s book is not all that up to date then (2012 Edition - should have checked the website!) He told me I could go into the church – which I thought was only open between 6-730 in the morning (no chance of me getting there at the moment, I’m still on UK time!) In the courtyard that leads into the church itself, there was one of the most joyful depictions of Mary and the Infant Christ that I have ever seen. It was such a lovely image with which to start the day.

 
There are beautiful mosaics beyond the gates (which were firmly locked, alas). Beautiful mosaics and images is a hallmark of this City, all of which sit alongside the challenge of religion and politics. It's a confusing place.

Drifting on from there I came across the iron steps that lead you up to ‘A Walk on the Roofs’ where you do, quite literally, walk on the rooftops – mainly above the souk, but also above homes, churches, synagogues and mosques. There were bicycles up there, children playing, families making their way over the rooftops – as it was a much easier route than the busy, winding streets below. From the rooftops you can see across to the surrounding hills, but up close it is a fantastic mess of satellite dishes (no planning permission required, obviously!), make-shift covers to stop the rain getting into the souk below, a playground, some smartly covered areas of flooring with other area that are quite dangerous if you don’t mind where you step. There are many nooks and crannies – one of which I followed – finding myself, quite unexpectedly, on a veranda overlooking the Western Wall (previously known as the Wailing Wall). I was soon joined by some young Jewish boys, and an older Jewish gentleman. They didn’t seem to mind me being there and, whilst I have valued immensely the privilege of praying alongside Jews and Christians at the Wall on previous visits (usually for peace in this City of Jerusalem) it felt right on this occasion to be at a distance – praying, watching, waiting, remaining, hoping.

And so I moved on… down a staircase, briefly into the souk, and then out into the Muristan area where I spent a while listening to a guitarist playing beautifully soul-full music. It was lovely here, away from the crowds for a while…

With no particular focus for today, l made my way through the Zion Gate this morning. It was a good morning – with more to follow… which will follow in a later entry as this one is far too long already!

A day of a hundred (or so) voices

I have no idea of how many voices I have actually heard today – but it will be somewhere near a good few hundred or so. From breakfast, with a Good Morning called across the room in welcome (with a delightful French accent from the Brothers and Sisters of the two Communities based at St Peter in Gallicantu), to the young boys of the souk competing to see who could yell the loudest in an attempt to drum up custom (in fact, no-one was listening to the boys – except themselves as they smiled and egged each other to yell all the more) and on to Vespers with the Community - said in the Church here.

In between, of course, there were the voices raised in song in the Crypt of the Dormition Abbey, the American who was loudly holding court in the café of Christ Church (proclaiming that Jesus was not a Jew as he was seen as ‘radical’ by the Jews of the time), the quiet murmur of the prayers of the pilgrims as they knelt at the site of the crucifixion (Golgotha), as well as the various people (all men) who wished to ‘assist’ me to find where I was going (at a cost, of course). One of them was Joseph, who loved England but who was born in Jerusalem. He was the most polite of all – even shaking my hand and blessing me as he went on his way. Others asked where I was from, having first caught my attention by calling out ‘Lady!’ I certainly don’t view myself as a lady but, because I automatically think it is someone wishing to tell me I have dropped something or possibly asking for help, usually I turn around. This, alas, gives it away! I shan't be doing this after today. I have also learned today to never sit or stand looking at a guidebook in an open space, always walk everywhere with a look of determination, ever look up at the architecture or down an alleyway with any show of inquisitiveness. It makes for speedy and dull viewing until you realise that this is just how it is here. Everyone is seeking to make a living here, with some barely managing to eke one out at all.

A shopkeeper from whom I purchased fruit and vegetables was only too happy to help me and did not ‘take me for a ride’ in the price he charged – unlike the man in the shop that sold herbs to unsuspecting passers-by who, like me, were called in by the evocative smells… more fool us! Like the owners of the souvenir shops that drip with ‘holy’ items that reflect every possible shade of Christian tradition, I imagine this man must see me as an arrogant westerner who can’t be bothered to learn the language in order to ask for what I required in his native language, Whilst I am vaguely irked for his disdain for me (and I know I deserve it), I also admire him, along with all the traders of the city (as well as the ‘beggars’) for the sheer tenacity which drives them on to learn how to speak Polish, English, German, Spanish – and more – all so that they can better sell their wares or seek a quick shekel.

And then there were the two unexpected Services to close the day. Two and a half weeks into this period of Extended Study Leave (Sabbatical) I realise how out of the loop I am with the pattern of the church year as I noted a poster advertising Services for the Week of Prayer for Christian Unity. Today's Service was held at St Mark's Convent (Upper Room) Syrian Orthodox Patriarchate – an impossibly difficult place to find! I went along wondering if there would be anyone else there at all - given what a maelstrom of faith this City of Jerusalem is. I couldn’t find it, and had to ask. A kind shopkeeper took pity on me as I poked my neck around a corner – Guidebook in hand open at the map page. I had to turn back the way I had come… but I was not the only one finding it so hard to find. I arrived just moments after the service had started but they was no room in the church itself. I, along with about twenty others, had to stand (or sit if you could find a chair) outside the body of the church in the entrance hall. The Service took place in Arabic, English, French, Armenian and Syriac. What an amazing experience. The singing was so passionate, even though ‘completely foreign’ to me!

Vespers here at St Peter’s came next – all in French. Sung gently by the seven people gathered, with me following the text and seeking to make out what was being sung and read dredging up my schoolbook French. Some I could remember, some I worked out from context and some was just beyond me, but it was fine. I was there. I was present. I was with others who were happy for me to be there with them.

So many voices raised in speech and song throughout the day in a city where so many seek to hear one particular voice speak or sing – the voice of God. Listening is sometimes hard here. Listening is always vital here. Listen.